


Tying Laces

by Rinari7



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Corsetry, F/M, First Time, Light breathplay, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 15:59:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11062326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinari7/pseuds/Rinari7
Summary: Nine has a certain weakness for corsets, or at least for Rose in a corset. Rose tries to take advantage of that, just a little.





	Tying Laces

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt on tumblr](http://dwsmutfest.tumblr.com/post/160280319690/it-is-so-obvious-that-nine-has-a-thing-for).
> 
> Many, many thanks to [Chiaroscuroverse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chiaroscuroverse) for beta-reading this for me, for helping me to iron out the little things and for reassuring me that this wasn't the mess I feared it was.

The first thought that crossed his mind was _she looks fantastic_. And then those stupid words came out of his mouth, “Blimey,” and “You look beautiful!” and “Considering,” and he wasn’t sure whether or not this was an excellent idea or a very, very bad one.

He tried not to think about it, about the way the corset fit her, cinched around her waist, held her breasts and pressed them up, tried not to think about how she’d look running, flush-faced and panting, tried not to stare at her neckline, tried to ignore the press of his cock, half-hard, against his trousers. Tried and failed, at each and every point.

He resolved to keep far away from any time between 1600 and 1900 while he had Rose with him, just to be on the safe side.

***

To be fair, it was the year 30,078 on the planet Graxxa, and he’d honestly forgotten that bit about their clothing. Well, more precisely, about the corsets. The Graxxans lacked any kind of spinal support, having originally evolved much like a cross between a lizard and ooze, but many years ago they had decided to emulate the upright posture of the bipedal species around them, in order to be seen more as equals. Well, one thing led to another, what the ambassadors and the court wore the nobility wanted to wear, and what the nobility wore the common folk wanted to wear, and before you knew it no one knew a time when they hadn’t been walking — or slithering — around without a corset and skirt on outside their homes. Now, it was practically public indecency to be caught without, for offworlders as well as natives. Of course it was a bit more complicated than that, but that was the abbreviated version he gave Rose.

“Does that mean you’ll be wearing a skirt, Doctor?” She grinned, a hint of a laugh in her smile, as she tucked her tongue between her teeth.

“And what’s wrong with that?” He glanced at the TARDIS console, then back at her. “A Graxxan jail is _not_ a place you want to land, if you can help it.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see this.” Rose was just a touch too eager.

But then, so was he.

***

He didn’t have to wait long.

“Uhm, Doctor?”

He adjusted the waistband of his long skirt, and pulled the hem of the jumper down over it a bit (and if he wasn’t wearing a corset, well, the Graxxans shouldn’t be able to tell) and forced himself to stare ahead and not look into the back of the wardrobe, where Rose was. “Yeah?”

“D’you think you could help me with this? I can’t get the corset… I got it by myself last time, but I dunno… I think it’s laced differently now or something…”

He wished desperately he knew nothing about the lacing or tying of corsets, but, funnily enough, he had acquired those tidbits of information over the years, from various trips to various places at various times with various companions, though none of them in a corset had ever done quite what Rose did to him. The TARDIS hummed, pleased, and mentally nudged him towards Rose. He sent his meddling ship the telepathic equivalent of a glare. “All right. Can I come back there?”

“Yeah, I’m — I’ve got something on.”

As he caught sight of her, he realized why she hadn’t exactly used the term “decent.” She was in a white underdress, but the material was thin and quite form-fitting, and if the light hadn’t been a bit dim back here he thought it might have been partially see-through. (He quashed any hint of disappointment, and hoped the low light hid any otherwise-possibly-prominent draping of his dark skirt, too.) Rose handed him the corset, one arm folded over her chest, watching him, pressing her lips together.

He examined the lacing, checking that everything was crossed and tied like it should be, that the hooks in the busk worked, that nothing was frayed or too worn. “Looks like everything’s as it should be.”

He handed it back to her, and she looked down as she wrapped it around herself, her loose hair falling in her face. “Could you — uhm, tie it, though? I mean, pull it tight. And tie it off.” There was a catch in her voice, a hesitancy, and she didn’t look at him, slotting the hooks of the busk together one by one.

He swallowed. “Yeah, sure. ‘Course I can.” And he took the laces, nearly gingerly, feeling himself feigning an automatic smile that belied the quick rhythm of his hearts. “Ready?”

“Do I need to hold on to anything?”

“Ah, no. That’s a bad idea; if you have to hold on, it means I’m probably pulling it too tight.”

“Right.” She nodded, and stood still, hands by her sides, tense. At first he pulled gently, then took up the slack in the laces, and tightened it again, so that it sat snugly, no slack, but with no pressure.

“Is that good? D’you want to keep it like that? It’s just for show, just to have it on, y’don’t have to have it properly on.” Ghosts, yes, ghosts and Graxxan jails, excellent topics to think about, unlike how that corset hugged her…

“No.” She spoke quietly, a little breathily, and he tried not to notice how he felt a bit warmer than usual. “You c’n put it on properly.” A little more quietly: “I liked having it on last time, properly.” She wrapped her arms over her chest, like a shield.

He tried to pay attention to her breathing without paying attention to her breathing, to make sure that she could breathe without thinking about each and every rise and fall of her chest, tried to avoid touching her, as much as possible. Slowly, he cinched the corset tighter, and she inhaled.

“Don’t hold your breath. Just breathe normally.”

Rose nodded.

“Are you all right? Tell me if it gets too tight.” He shouldn’t be doing this, not him. Anyone but him. Shouldn’t be touching her, him, shouldn’t have invited her along, even, but sometimes he didn’t have all the restraint he should.

“I will.” She was quiet, adjusting her stance, edging towards him a bit, brushing her hair out of her face only for it to fall into the exact same spot. “You can… keep tightening it.”

He had to pull harder now, and she made a small noise, not quite of discomfort, but he stopped anyways, for a moment, just to be sure, taking up the slack in the laces and evening out the pressure. He was quite sure he was tenting his skirt now, and he tried not to breathe too heavily. It was a small space, closed in on all sides by racks of skirts and coats and various other items of clothing, warm, decidedly cozy, lots of things to soften surfaces… And there was a hint of something in the air, a scent, musky, savory, intoxicating, like Rose herself.

He cleared his throat, and pulled a bit too sharply.

Rose stumbled back against him, and he tensed, automatically. “Sorry! I’m —” Her bum was pressed against his crotch. Rose’s bum — his thoughts skittered to a stop, for a minuscule fraction of a nanosecond.

“I’ll —” she swallowed. “I’ll just —” She shifted forwards, but only a smidge, and if either of them swayed, she would feel him again. “Maybe I should hold onto something?”

“Right. Well.” He resisted the urge to close the distance, to show her exactly what this was doing to him, if she didn’t already know. “I think that’s probably tight enough. Can you breathe well?”

Her breathing was shallow now, quick, and he loosened the laces a little.

“No!” She gripped the bar of a nearby metal clothes rack. “I mean —” a quick pant, “I can still breathe.” She glanced up at him, through her lashes, tongue tucked into the corner of her mouth, that look that sent heat straight to his core, and he was sure she had no clue she was doing it. “You could probably keep — just a bit tighter, maybe. And then I’ll see how it feels.”

“You couldn’t run like this. And in case you haven’t noticed, we tend to do a fair bit of running.” He was loosening the laces, pulling them outwards, and then her fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“Doctor.” She gazed at him, over her shoulder, uncertain. “Just —” She dropped her head, shaking it, and released his hand. “Never mind.”

He froze, staring at the laces in his hands, staring at her, her shoulders hunched, her scent seeping into his nostrils — she was aroused, but he could scarcely believe it, couldn’t think why, not him. Though now embarrassment and shame and fear radiated from her, instead of lust. “Rose?”

“Uhm, if you could just — you’re right, it should probably be a bit looser, and if you could just tie it off…” her voice was low, disappointed, with a sort of catch in it, as if she were thinking about crying.

He moved slowly, startled by that sudden change of emotions, treading carefully, like he would around a wild creature. He never had been good at domestics. “You want me to loosen it now?”

“Just —” She shook her head, straightening, her arms folded over her chest, not looking at him. “Just leave it, Doctor. Never mind. I’ll do it myself in a minute.”

He dropped the laces, staring at her, brow wrinkled. “I thought you were having trouble.”

“It was never really about the clothes.” Her tone was flat, quiet, and dear Gallifrey had he been thick.

“Oh.” His tongue felt sluggish, heavy.

“It’s okay, Doctor. I’m sorry.” she tightened her arms around herself, inhaling shakily. “Could you — could we just forget this ever happened?”

“Now why would I want to do that?”

She turned, her eyes wide. Damn his gob. “I’m sorry, Doctor! Please don’t make me go! I just — I was just being stupid, I —”

He stared down at her, stepping forwards, taking a deep breath, unable to quite believe what was happening. “Are you done? With the nattering?” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Why would I want to forget Rose Tyler wanting me to touch her?”

She lifted her shoulders, pressing her lips together, swallowing. “I — I thought you wouldn’t — wouldn’t want some human wanting you to. Not… like that, anyways.” She met his eyes briefly before flicking her gaze away again.

“So…” He reached out, couldn’t quite let himself touch her, not just to touch, not for his own sake — just ghosted a hand over her shoulder. “You _do_ want me to touch you?”

She nodded slowly, looking up at him. “Yeah. Sometimes. Well, a lot of the time. But I — really, it’s fine.” She took a small step back, raising one hand, shaking her head. “We don’t — I’m happy just being your… companion, your plus one, whatever — I just, you and the Tardis are the best thing that’s happened to me, and I couldn’t — I can’t lose you —”

“Rose Tyler.” He spoke quietly, and wondered how she could _not_ know how he felt about her, wondered how it wasn’t etched all over his face, “You are not going to lose me. Not unless you want to. Not ever.” Then he leaned down and brushed his lips over hers.

***

She sat on the edge of his bed, legs splayed open, the skirt of that sheer white dress pushed up, her knickers long since gone. Her breath came shallowly, the corset still tight — he had cinched it tighter, with her permission, loving the way she looked flushed and panting, the dazed look in her eye. He couldn’t resist bending down from where he stood in front of her to take her lower lip between his teeth again, tugging on it gently, relishing the way she pressed up to meet him, the cloth of the corset cool and stiff against the skin on his chest.

“Doctor…” It was a gasp, a plea, when he drew away, to draw a hand back up the inside of her thigh, lightly scratching, and she shuddered, leaning her head into the hand at the side of her neck. He brushed a thumb over her cheek.

She was slick, so eager, and he slid two fingers into her, easily. Holding her tongue between her teeth, she arched, tensed, sighed. Dazed, intoxicated by her soft moans, wanting, needing more, he curled his fingers and sought out that spot, pressing up against it. She tilted her head back, eyes falling shut, the hand she brought up to her mouth and lightly bit doing nothing to muffle the glorious sounds that tumbled from her lips.

“Rose,” and he wanted to say more, to tell her just what she did to him, how he felt, but no words would suffice. He wanted to bond with her, but that would require explanations, would take time he didn’t want to spend now — would mean something he wasn’t sure he would survive. So he made do with her name, a litany. “Rose, oh Rose…”

“Doctor, please, I want you inside.” She grasped at his forearms, bucking her hips up. “Please.”  
Fighting the urge to grind against her thigh, hard and wanting, he slowly withdrew his fingers from her, and sucked them into his mouth. Rose inhaled sharply at the sight, straining at the corset. She hitched her leg higher on his hip, tried to draw him to her.

He gladly obliged, pressing into her, and she tilted her hips to meet him. His eyes slid shut, and he reached for her hand, clasped it, entwining their fingers. At some point, his respiratory bypass kicked in, but he didn’t notice, overwhelmed by the feeling of finally being joined with her like this.

(Several hours later, with her tucked into his side under his sheets, it occurred to him that he’d have to find out whoever invented corsets — sometime in mid-16th-century France? — and pop by to thank them personally.)

**Author's Note:**

> Do not do any kind of breathplay/breathing restriction, with corsets or otherwise, unless you have experience with that sort of thing, or have received instruction and guidance, or thoroughly researched it. Please please please.
> 
> Breathplay is fucking dangerous, even if you're not completely cutting off a person's air supply. Do not blindly imitate fanfiction that is written to fulfill fantasies (e.g. this one).
> 
> A corset, worn properly, should actually not restrict your breathing.
> 
> If you're going to tie or restrain someone in _any_ way, have the relevant implement nearby to free them in case of an emergency (in this case, scissors to cut the corset lacing if need be, or in a different scenario a handcuff key).


End file.
